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On May 30, three male teachers at Vauxhall High School allegedly held down a schoolboy against his will and forcibly assaulted him. No, it was not sexual exploitation. But it was certainly a demeaning abuse of power. The adults violently cut the child’s hair while he kicked and screamed in protest. Why did these authority figures feel entitled to act in this shameful way?

I suppose they had determined that the student was a ‘leggo beast’ and it was their duty to tame him. But it is their own behaviour that is beastly. No adult should ever turn a child into an animal by robbing him of his dignity. Especially over a hairstyle!

Vauxhall High School has a dress policy that includes strict rules about how boys’ hair must be groomed. I gather that hair must be the same length all over the head. So no funky hairstyles are allowed. In addition, hair can’t be more than two inches high.

How did the powers that be arrive at that arbitrary figure? Why would another inch of hair not be acceptable? This regulation seems to be a direct attack on black hair, which grows up and out, not straight down. Is the two-inch rule equally applied to all kinds of hair?

BORN TROUBLEMAKER

I haven’t had a chance to talk to the student who was attacked by the very people who should have been protecting him at school. I would have liked to ask him what his hairstyle meant to him. I’m not assuming he has a grand philosophical reason for wanting his hair to grow past the two-inch limit.

Perhaps, the student was just plain unruly. I was told that he’s a bleacher and wears tight pants. As if those are clear signs that he’s a born troublemaker! But why did this young man feel so passionately about his hairstyle that he had to break the rules? I guess he’s a stylist for whom image is important. Why shouldn’t he be able to express his sense of style at school?

Students whose creativity is highly developed are inclined to be unruly. They are also likely to become the filmmakers, musicians, fashion designers, hair stylists, entertainment lawyers, etc, of the future. They need special care, not abuse. I think all high schools should identify creative students who can be allowed some freedom of expression.

Dress codes, for example, could be flexibly applied to these students. It is pure folly to cling to the superstition that wearing a school uniform and following all the grooming rules will guarantee academic achievement. In fact, all students could be allowed to dress casually one day per month. It just might enhance creativity.

SCHOOLS FOR THE ARTS

We keep talking about the creative industries as an essential component of economic development. But we don’t seem to understand that we have to nurture creativity. School should not be an institution that forces all students to fit into the same mould. There should be room for individuality.

It’s time for the Ministry of Education to establish schools for the arts that would allow creative students to learn in an environment that suits their temperament. There should be at least one school in each parish that would produce talented students, ready to contribute to national development through the creative industries.

Last Friday, I was fortunate to see the University Players’ brilliant production, ‘Garvey the Musical, Roots Reggae Rock’, written and directed by Michael Holgate. It was a special performance for students from Brooklyn College and The Queen’s School.

Holgate, who is tutor-coordinator at the Philip Sherlock Centre for the Creative Arts, writes a mythic story. Garvey comes back to life and is alarmed to realise that black people still have deep-rooted issues with identity. Skin colour remains a perplexing issue as young black people say they hate black skin.

One of the most intriguing characters is Jonathan, who refuses to answer to that name. He prefers to be called Scrubs, for obvious reasons. He’s a committed bleacher and a DJ who is dying to ‘buss’ like his idol Vybz Kartel. And, by the way, I keep making the point that if there had been a recording studio at Calabar and if deejaying had been on the music curriculum, Adidja Palmer might not now be imprisoned in the role of Vybz Kartel. Instead of ‘sculling’ school to go to studio, he might have gone to university as well.

The conversations between Garvey and Scrubs are most entertaining. When Scrubs hears the story of Garvey’s two wives who were once best friends, he calls the national hero a “gyallis”. It’s a struggle for Scrubs to understand Garvey’s assertion of an ‘African’ identity. As a youth in Jamaica, Scrubs knows that Africa is a continent of shame. Eventually, he comes to understand Garvey’s message of race pride with the help of the ancestors.

Frederic Aurelien, a freshman student at Brooklyn College, told me that Garvey’s Pan-African vision was still relevant for Americans. And Amelia Smith, a grade nine student at Queen’s, said that Garvey’s message was applicable to her today. This inspiring play should tour the country as one of the premier events for Jamaica 55. And Garvey’s empowering message must again resound across the world: “Up, you mighty race, accomplish what you will!”

On Christmas day, I got a blistering email from a man who was angered by my column, ‘Psssst! Hi Sexy!’ He wasn’t vexed because I’d written off out-of-order men who call out to women on the street. It was my “ugly message” coming the day before Kwanzaa. I hadn’t paid any attention to what he called the internalised racism of the fictional female character I’d quoted.

Highlighting colour and class, the woman dissed the gardener who pssssted her. As far as she was concerned, he was too ugly, poor, ignorant and black to be ‘looking’ her. Of course, I was not endorsing the woman’s words. As I said in the column, if the man hadn’t provoked her, she wouldn’t have had the chance to list what she considered to be all his limitations.

When I repeated that point in response to the email, I got a multiple-choice exam. Suppose the “general public” overheard this interrogation: “You have colour, you have education, you smart”? What assumption would be made about the person being questioned? It’s “A. a black person; B. a white person; C. a browning”.

I mischievously replied to say that some of my white friends tell me that white is not the ideal colour in Jamaica; it’s brown. So we could eliminate white right away. But I did take the man’s point: a black woman really should not be dissing a black man in this way. And I should have said that. So I decided to write a conciliatory column this week.

STEPPING UP IN LIFE

But I kept wondering if that angry woman was actually suffering from internalised racism. What if she simply knew the right buttons to push to let her unwanted suitor know how much she despised him? And, notice, she didn’t say ‘black and ugly’. The man’s ugliness was independent of his blackness.

And one could make a fairly good case for his ignorance. He didn’t know how the woman would react and he foolishly risked rejection by propositioning her. And why shouldn’t this woman want a man who is not poor? It’s about stepping up in life. And why can’t she express a preference for a man who is not black?

So many black men of all social classes in Jamaica have a clear preference for women who are not black. Do we automatically assume that they are suffering from “internalised racism”? Or is it that they always happen to fall in love with a particular woman who just happens to be not black?

What is good for the goose should be good for the gander. But I know my angry male reader would not buy that argument. In fact, this is what he said in another email: “No wonder the yute dem a bleach out if a ‘cultured’ person like yourself indirectly participate[s] in the transference of self-denigration”.

Let’s assume that this presumably black woman has, in fact, internalised racism. Where does this racism come from? Did she learn it in the womb? At home? At school? From the media? Where are the positive images of blackness in Jamaican society? Do a little experiment today and look at the pictures of the ideal Jamaican family in advertisements. It’s almost always a black man, a light-skinned woman, a black boy and a light-skinned girl.

There was a brief moment in the 1970s when black women were in fashion. White and near-white men married black women. It was a new style of trophy wife who proved that her husband was ‘right on’. Later in life, many of these men reverted to type, choosing wives that looked just like them. And some black men didn’t even pretend that they wanted black women as ‘trophy’ wives.

ON THE SHELF

Then there was a very facety response to the column posted on The Gleaner‘s website: “Most women your age have been on the shelf for years without any takers. They would give their eye tooth to have a man acknowledge them. Relish the attention my dear, it means that you still ‘got it goin on’.”

Talk about ageism! So if you are an old woman you must feel flattered by the attention of strangers on the street. No matter what they say? I posted back, “Me have use fi my eye tooth”. Most women, on the shelf or not, don’t object on principle to a compliment from a well-intentioned man. We certainly know how to distinguish between a compliment and an insult.

The most elaborate compliment I’ve got on the street came from a security guard who was full of lyrics. He said to me, “Yu don’t have no sister”. It was more a statement than a question. I do have sisters but since there’s no law that says you must tell the truth to nosy strangers, I said no.

So here’s his response: “Mi know! Yu have di whole of dem shape”. Mi nearly dead wid laugh. All of the shapeliness of my potential sisters was compounded in me. How could you get vexed with a piece of lyrics like that? I thanked the nice gentleman for his compliment and kept moving. He graciously made no effort to detain me. Knowing how to compliment a woman has nothing to do with looks, social class, colour or education. It’s a gift!

Two spelling systems are used for the Jamaican language below. The first, which I call ‘chaka-chaka’, is based on English spelling. The second, ‘prapa-prapa’, is the specialist system designed by the Jamaican linguist Frederic Cassidy. It has been updated by the Jamaican Language Unit at the University of the West Indies, Mona. After the two Jamaican versions, there’s an English translation.

CHAKA-CHAKA SPELLING

Last week, mi go a one uptown pharmacy an mi buck up one a mi fren. She a nyam up herself bout di whole heap a white dolly. She carry mi go look pon di shelf dem full a dolly. Outa many, not one degeh-degeh black dolly.

An dolly house have bed fi mek up an floor fi sweep. Nuff, nuff housework. Wa mek wi no gi boy-pikni dolly fi play wid an dolly house fi look after? Becau man tink a dem run tings an a so dem set it. Certain work dem nah do. An it look like seh di fuul-fuul man dem no understand a who run di kitchen run di world. Mek dem keep outa kitchen. Dem ha fi nyam anyting dem get.

Pon top a dat, wen yu gi one black gyal-pikni white dolly fi look after, a set you a set her up fi mind other people pikni wen she grow big. Weh she a go get white baby fi herself? She mighta find one nice white genkleman fi gi her baby. But dat deh baby still nah go look like di white dolly dem. An di baby nah go look like di muma to dat.

BIG UP ZACKS!

One next problem wid di white dolly dem a di tall hair. A di dolly dem mek so much black woman eena Jamaica a buy false hair. Well, some a di hair a real-real hair. But a no fi dem. Di woman dem did play wid white dolly wen dem a pikni, an dem waan look like di dolly. It grieve mi wen mi find out seh Jamaica a spend one billion dollar every year pon foreign hair. Billion, mi seh! Wi no have nutten else fi do wid all a dat deh money? No sah, mi cyaan believe it.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Only White Dolls For Christmas

Two weeks ago, I ran into one of my friends at an uptown pharmacy. She was carrying on about all the white dolls. And she took me to have a look at the shelves of dolls. Out of many, not one single black doll.

So I asked the manager who was buying the white dolls. He said it was black people and they are the same ones who are bleaching their skin. I was glad he made the connection between the white dolls and skin bleaching. But that’s not stopping the pharmacy from selling the white dolls. It’s all about money. And when the bleachers’ skin gets damaged, they will have to go right back to the pharmacy for medication.

This doll business is a very serious issue. Dolls are designed to condition little girls to care for babies. It’s not natural. It’s to brainwash the poor little children. And it’s not just dolls. A doll lives in a house with a kitchen: stove and fridge and pots and pans and plates and cups and saucers. That’s to make little girls know it’s their duty to cook.

And a doll house has beds to be made and floors to be swept. Lots and lots of house work. Why don’t we let boys play with dolls and look after doll houses? Because men think they’re in charge and that’s just how things should be. They’re not going to do certain jobs. And it seems as if these foolish men don’t understand that whoever is in charge of the kitchen rules the world. Let them stay out of kitchen. They will have to eat whatever is dished out.

Then when you give a white doll to a little black girl, you’re telling her that when she grows up she’ll have to look after other people’s children. How will she get her own white baby? She might have a child with a caring white man. But that child won’t look like the white dolls. And the baby won’t resemble the mother all that much.

BIG UP ZACKS!

Another problem with the white dolls is the long, flowing hair. It’s the dolls that have caused so many black woman in Jamaica to buy false hair. Well, some of the hair is a actually real. But it’s not theirs. As children, these women played with white dolls. And they want to look like the dolls. I was appalled to learn that Jamaica imports one billion dollars’ worth of foreign hair every year. A billion! Don’t we have anything else to do with all of that money? I simply can’t believe it.

I have to admit that I’ve put in extensions a couple of times. I got caught with this long-hair fashion. And I was raised on white dolls. I have a lovely picture of myself, my younger brother and my white doll. My right hand is around my brother’s shoulder, and my white doll is sitting pretty in my left hand. I’m looking after both of them in exactly the same way.

But I grew out of white dolls and long hair. I do know that some of those women with long hair – and those men who love long hair – think that women like me have no ambition. Acting as if our short, natural hair is stylish and we know we’re attractive. Well, I have to big up my barber Zacks. His shop is at Pulse on Trafalgar Rd. When he’s finished styling my natural hair, not one of those women with long hair is hotter than me!